Celebrity in Death

children on some level, often on more than one level. K.T. could be somewhat of a problem child. I’m very good at managing people, dealing with the creative temperament and problem children or I wouldn’t be where I am today.”
    “I hear she was a mean drunk.”
    He sighed again. “That’s the kind of gossip I want to prevent. She didn’t handle drink well, and she had a temper. She wasn’t a very happy woman, but she could and did do fine work. I don’t want her smeared.”
    “Did you and she have any altercations?”
    “I wouldn’t call them altercations. She wasn’t happy, as I said, she had complaints about the script, the direction, her costars. I’m used to actors coming to me with complaints.”
    “How did you handle them?”
    “I smoothed them over when possible, was firm when it wasn’t. K.T. understood if she didn’t cooperate it wouldn’t go well for her career. She was good, very good, but not indispensable. I understand she blew off some steam tonight, and it was rude. It was inappropriate.”
    He lifted his hands with a rise of shoulders in a what-can-you-do gesture. “I intended to discuss it with her tomorrow, and urge her to go into rehab, to take some anger management sessions. Otherwise …”
    “Otherwise?”
    The shrugging indulgence shifted smoothly to cold calculation. “There are plenty of hungry actors waiting for a break. I have another project green lit, and she wanted it. I wanted her for it. But, as I said, she wasn’t indispensable, and I would have made that clear.”
    Eve released him, glanced at Mira.
    “A position of power and politics,” Mira said. “One he uses and enjoys. He understood her value as a commodity, and would have no problem replacing her—or threatening to—if that commodity devalued.”
    “Yeah. Plus, he’s pushy and excitable. You have to wonder what any one of these people would do if the vic had something that threatened their career—which equals ego and bank account—or this specific project. So far it’s clear nobody liked her, and none of them bothered to pretend otherwise.”
    “She was particularly unlikable.”
    “No argument. Being unlikable isn’t enough to earn you a slab in the morgue.”
    “Did she have family?”
    “I haven’t checked yet. We’ll run that down, notify next of kin.”
    “Always difficult. Would you like me to start detoxifying Julian?”
    Eve had to smile at the term. “Yeah. I’ll talk to Nadine while he sobers up. I appreciate the help. I imagine you and Mr. Mira would like to get the hell out of here.”
    “Actually, he’s finding it all very interesting. So am I.”
    “His socks don’t match.”
    “I’m sorry?”
    “Mr. Mira’s socks don’t match.”
    “Damn it.” Mira let out an exasperated laugh. “I know he doesn’t pay attention, but that got by me.”
    “It’s …” Eve searched for the word. “Sweet” was the best she could think of, and it made Mira smile.
    “His mind’s always on something else. He’d live in a ratty cardigan, and he’s always worrying holes in the pockets of his pants. He can never seem to find his wallet or anything in the refrigerator. And just when you think he’s not paying any attention to what you’re saying or doing, he comes up with exactly the right answer or solution.”
    Mira got to her feet. “People who expect perfection in a mate miss a lot of fun—and sweetness. I’ll go take care of Julian. Should I ask Nadine to come in?”
    “Yeah, thanks.”
    She thought of Roarke, imagined a lot of people looked at him and saw perfection. She knew differently, and decided she had a whole bunch of fun and sweetness in her life.
    Even as she thought it he walked in with a jumbo mug of coffee.
    “Where did you get that? I get these little girlie cups.”
    “Which is why I asked the housekeeper for something more formidable.”
    When he set it in front of her, Eve crooked her finger so he leaned down. She kissed him. “You’re not perfect,” she said.
    “See if I bring you a giant mug of coffee again any time soon.”
    “You’re not perfect, and that makes you just exactly right.”
    “Being just exactly right has it all over perfection.”
    “Bet your ass.” She lifted the coffee, took a long, lifesaving swallow. “Want to sit in on my interview with Nadine?”
    “I would if you share that coffee. If you want an update, Peabody and McNab just finished up their end of interviews. Peabody didn’t want to interrupt yours,